When we narrate our story in life, sometimes we hope we can change it. We hope for new beginnings, details that don't shake our voice, and endings that are free of sorrow.
We tell ourselves mantras like, "Without the rain there would be no rainbow," and we repeat them until we're blue in the face hoping if we just say them one more time maybe we will truly believe it. Maybe my life won't feel so profoundly shaken.... Maybe I'll feel the sun on my face and see the rainbow on the horizon.
We can't change the details, though. Try as we may, we can't create a time machine and write our lives differently. We can't create loopholes to our narration.
This can turn us into a white ball of rage. We ask questions like, "If there is a God, why is he letting my life go this way?" We feel like the more we narrate our story, maybe our light has gone out forever. Maybe we just have a certain amount of happiness and we used it up already!
We begin to just weather the storm, hoping to get out alive. We have nothing but the desire to be free of this pit of sorrow. What if there's nothing left when you get to the other end of the storm?
But you just have to move an inch. You don't have to narrate your whole story now, you can just write one word at a time. You just have to start.
Don't let that giant, festering ball of rage destroy your story. Those grimy details of your story matter, too! So milk this season of your life for all it's worth. When that unfriendly thought takes a stroll through your mind, take a second to breathe. Breathe it out. You can't change this unfriendly thought, you certainly can't make it disappear, but you can accept it. Breathe out forgiveness and love and acceptance.
Learn to tame your rage, put your sorrow to bed, and build acceptance of all you've come through..... Even the details that make your voice shake. Find your way back to compassion.
Live a mysterious and sacred life, one you'd be proud to narrate. Your light hasn't gone out forever, you've just got to move an inch.
What if her light went out and she refused to budge? What can I do to save her, and thus save myself, for she is (was) my wife?
ReplyDeleteI'm afraid your wife has to save herself; she has to choose to move. The pain of watching someone you love drift away is indescribable, so it's my hope that she realizes the fire in her soul to live and love. The worst thing you can do after losing love is lose yourself, remember that.
Delete